


Triangle

by electricblueninja



Series: Rise [4]
Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 10:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7529173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricblueninja/pseuds/electricblueninja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
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            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_It wasn’t supposed to happen again._

 

 

Yunho looked over at Changmin’s sleeping face, and cursed him silently.

 

 

He cursed himself, too, for good measure.

 

 

In all honesty, he should probably be cursing himself alone, because it had been his own fault the first time, and his own fault the second time as well, too unspeakably tempted by the shuddering memory of the pleasure he’d drawn from the deep thrusts of Changmin’s powerful hips—

 

 

_Stupid, Jung. That was fucking stupid. It was bad enough you did it once, and now you go and do it again?_

Yet his thoughts drifted away from berating himself at around the same pace as his eyes travelled down the slender, sturdy length of Changmin’s naked torso: his skin was a rich, warm colour against the crisp white of the sheets; warm, and smooth, and marked here and there with scars and pocks and other assorted emblems of a history of violence.

 

 

More reminders of why this was a stupid, stupid thing to do.

 

 

Changmin rolled onto his side, turning his face and naked body towards Yunho. His dark hair, usually scraped back from his face in a way that reminded Yunho of gangster movies from the 80s, had escaped from its usual carefully constructed contours, and stuck up all over the place, hanging in thick dark strands over his forehead. In short, it was a mess, and it gave Yunho a strange sense of satisfaction, because it was a direct consequence of the activities of the night before. After all, with his forearm in the cast, certain positions had been inappropriate. It had taken a couple of false starts to devise a satisfying way to see the encounter through, but they’d managed—Lord, how they’d managed.

 

 

Yunho reached down with his functional arm to rub gingerly at his quadriceps. He’d forgotten what the aftereffects of riding could be like.

 

 

As he did so, the back of his hand brushed against Changmin’s thigh.

 

 

The other man stirred, but did not wake, and Yunho resumed a study of his face.

 

 

He looked different while he slept. Not…soft, exactly. But something _like_ that. Almost cute. The surliness that permanently masked his waking features was smoothed away by sleep, and it made him look…gentler. Yes, that was it. He looked gentler.

 

 

Yunho picked up that whole train of thought and planted it firmly on a different track.

 

 

Any track would have done, but he chose the events of the preceding day, since as much as he would have liked to forget them completely, he could not afford to. They required his consideration.

 

 

Changmin had said that he had seen one of his attackers. Wearing uniform, maybe, he’d added, later in the afternoon.

 

 

Yunho had seen him too.

 

 

He didn’t think that he’d been made, but there was always a possibility. There was no longer any such thing as ‘too careful’. If he wanted to live, he was going to have to live very, very cleverly. This was the end of Gwangju. It must be.

 

 

His thoughts were derailed again as Changmin sighed heavily in his sleep; thick lips parted, brow furrowed.

 

 

In an instant, Yunho was sucked back into a recollection of the way Changmin had closed his eyes and tried to look away when things had Started Again the night before. Of course, he had refused to allow Yunho to shower alone. He had been compelled to assist Yunho in washing himself from head to toe, and there were a few inches that Changmin’s hands had not skipped, but probably should have.

 

 

Long story short, the moment Changmin had laid his helpful hands on Yunho’s dick, it had started to harden. And, because Yunho had no self-control to speak of, his awful, self-destructive lust had decided to press the issue. Personal hygiene was hastened through with an unusually urgent efficiency, a towel brushed hastily over each of their wet bodies, and then in moments they had been pressed against each other, still damp, desperate for the temporary completion they might find if they joined together.

 

 

Yunho could remember with alarming precision the sensation of Changmin’s slicked up pointer finger slipping gently inside him; the index finger, too; the tenderness of it. He had moved slowly, pressing Yunho gently back against the mattress in the safe-house’s small studio room, cautious of Yunho’s body this time—and not only the injured arm. Looking down on Yunho from all-fours (well, three, really, when one arm was otherwise committed), he had lowered his hips and shifted his weight diagonally, so that their cocks brushed lightly against each another. Their lips had met; yearning but cautious.

 

 

A third finger was all too easy.

 

 

And when he moved on, and slid his cock into him, it was both filling and _fulfilling_ , moving steadily, thick and unhurried, inside him.

 

 

They had not spoken. Words would have broken the spell; would have opened the floodgates for the unspoken undercurrent of wild and terrifying things that coursed not far beneath the surface.

 

 

This was not to say that they’d been _silent_ , of course: just that the grunts and moans had been more than conversation enough. It was just that the only _words_ that had been said were when Yunho told Changmin to lie on his back, and Changmin had submitted, and Yunho had ridden him over the edge and into ecstasy. _That_ was when his hair had gotten so messed up—he’d alternated between gripping Yunho’s waist and clinging to the pillow, head tipped back as he sighed and whispered and wordlessly pleaded his way into delirium.

 

 

And when it was over, and they’d lain side by side in a sweaty, sticky mess, Yunho had not regretted it in the slightest.

 

 

But they’d cleaned up and come back to the bed, and Changmin had said, in an offhand way, ‘Can I get you anything?’ and that was it—the spell had been broken.

 

 

Yunho had said no, and gotten up to get himself a glass of water.

 

 

He did the same again now. Got up for a glass of water. Because Changmin was stirring, and looked as though he might actually wake this time.

 

 

Yunho didn’t want him to wake to find them side-by-side.

 

 

He didn’t want to give him the wrong impression.

 

 

This was _not_ a romance.


	2. Chapter 2

Heechul did not like unexpected visitors.

 

 

 

Not because people visited him without warning—that happened fairly often—but because he usually had ways of knowing who was coming, and why.

 

 

 

So when an unfamiliar face appeared at his door, knocking politely but only _just_ waiting for his nod of approval before admitting himself to the room, he couldn’t help but feel like he was a few cards short of a deck. He wasn’t nervous, exactly. He just wasn’t _comfortable_. The stranger was not particularly powerfully built, but he carried himself with an air of confidence, and made direct eye contact with Heechul in a way that the latter was unaccustomed to.

 

 

 

Heechul certainly didn’t _need_ a bodyguard. He’d had his share of the rough stuff, and was creative when situations called for self-defence. He could use anything at hand as a weapon without difficulty, and there were at least six items within reach that he could use to put down any assault on his person.

 

 

 

Still, it would have been handy to have Changmin closer than the Dong-gu safe-house.

 

 

 

The stranger moved into the room, slowly but with confidence. He was definitely here for a reason.

 

 

 

‘A pleasure to make your acquiantance, Kim Heechul. I’ve heard a lot about you,’ he said.

 

 

 

Heechul responded by eyeing him coolly. ‘Is that so?’ he replied, with practiced disinterest. ‘What have you heard?’

 

 

 

The stranger responded with a chilly grin of his own. ‘Well, you know. People talk.’

 

 

 

 

‘They do, don’t they? People say a lot of things. Not all of them are true, though.’

 

 

 

Might as well remain noncommittal.

 

 

 

‘May I sit?’

 

 

 

‘Be my guest,’ he answered, dryly, and rose from his desk to take a seat on one of the leather lounges, placed opposite each other on either side of a low table.

 

 

 

Judging from the visitor’s facial expression, his sarcasm was not wasted: with slightly more reservation, he took the opposing seat.

 

 

 

‘Actually, there are a few matters I would like to discuss with you. One is a business proposition. The other is a favour.’

 

 

 

Heechul leaned back, and spread his arms along the back of the sofa. ‘That’s very...confident of you, to come in here and ask a favour of someone you’ve never met.’

 

 

 

‘Yes, I realise that. But I was hoping you might be willing to help anyway. You know, as a gesture of good-will.’

 

 

 

‘I see. You’ve heard I have that, have you?’

 

 

 

‘We would be able to return the favour. With dividends. I understand you are in some kind of difficulty with the family Choi.’

 

 

 

‘Something else you’ve heard, is it?’ Heechul asked, lifting an eyebrow. ‘How strange. No, I don’t bear the Choi family any ill will. They’ve paid their dues.’

 

 

 

A smirk ghosted over the stranger’s lips. Heechul didn’t like it.

 

 

 

‘I don’t think that’s how they see it,’ he said, and Heechul was annoyed, because something about the _way_ he said it rang true. And he was probably right, of course, but it sounded like he _knew something._ Something Heechul didn’t.

 

 

He hated that.

 

 

 

He continued the necessary posturing by smoothing his hair back from his face and shrugging. ‘Listen, I appreciate that you have taken the time to come and speak with me directly, but perhaps you could move on to the favour itself. I’m afraid I am a little pressed for time.’

 

 

 

‘Of course. The thing is, we’re looking for someone.’

 

 

 

He smiled another cold smile as he said this, and Heechul was absolutely certain that this was a hard man. A cruel man. And, from the way he clenched his fists, a man who held a grudge, and did not like it when things didn’t go his way.

 

 

 

Frankly, this made him curious. He expressed this by leaning forward. ‘Go on.’

 

 

 

His guest leaned forward too, his tone becoming conspiratorial. ‘There was a man who, until recently, was operating a bar in this city. It just so happens that one of your employees had an...altercation...with a Choi family member in the venue. So although it is a long shot, we were rather hoping you might be able to help us locate the bar owner. We have been looking for him for quite some time, and it is most inconvenient that we cannot find him. We have urgent matters to discuss with him.’

 

 

 

Heechul bought himself time to think by indulging in some casual mockery, ‘So, you found this bar owner, and then lost him?’

 

 

 

‘Something like that, yes.’

 

 

 

‘And you want me to help you find him.’

 

 

 

‘I’ve heard you have a long reach.’

 

 

 

'He did something to you? Took something from you?'

 

 

 

Silence.

 

 

 

‘I see...so it is possible that he does not particularly want to discuss those urgent matters with you?’

 

 

 

The man shrugged. ‘He owes us something.’

 

 

 

Heechul sat back again. ‘I’m sure it’s none of my business, anyway.’

 

 

 

He paused, holding the stranger’s eye contact, but the other man didn’t look away, so Heechul just let the silence drag on a bit before he nodded.

 

 

 

‘There is such a bar, so I am sure there is such an owner. I don’t know anything about him, but...as you say, there are ways. I’ll give it some thought.’

 

 

 

The man smiled thinly. ‘Please do. I think we could be of great mutual assistance in the future.’

 

 

 

‘It might be helpful if you let me know how I can contact you, once I’ve finished thinking. And also perhaps even introduce yourself,’ Heechul said airily. ‘I like knowing who owes me favours.’

 

 

 

 

This was bait, pure and simple, but the stranger didn’t rise to it. He was too clever for that. He just smiled with all of his teeth—a grimace. Heechul could tell he didn’t appreciate the snark, though (which meant he was probably quite dull).

 

 

 

 

‘I usually just go by Park,’ he said.

 

 

 

It wasn't much of a reply, but Heechul let it slide. ‘Then, Mr Park, let me see if I can help you with your disappeared person. Does he have a name?’

 

 

 

‘Whether he goes by it now, I don’t know. But he used to go by Jung Yunho.’

 

 

 

‘Well, then.’ _Well indeed_. _Jung Yunho, is it?_ _Jung…_ ‘And his appearance? A photograph? A description?’

 

 

 

Wordlessly, Park reached into his pocket and passed him a photograph. A family of four, all smiling; an ageing father, mother, and an adult male and female—more likely son and daughter than husband and wife, because they very much resembled their parents.

 

 

 

‘Thanks. Do you mind if I hang on to this?’

 

 

 

Park seemed pleased by the question. ‘Please. And my card,’ he added, handing it over. As he did so, his phone began to buzz in his pocket.

 

 

 

He checked the caller ID, and made a face. ‘I’m so sorry to be abrupt, Heechul-ssi. This is an urgent matter. I will leave you to your considerations, but please contact me any time. I have other business propositions I would like to discuss with you as well. For now, let's just say I can definitely help smooth the way for your operation. You know, help with any political or legal problems and whatnot.’

 

 

 

Heechul watched him go, and then returned his attention to Jung Yunho’s smiling face.

 

 

 

_Well, Jung. I guess you’re more complicated than I thought._


	3. Chapter 3

When Changmin opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the unfamiliar, featureless white ceiling.

 

 

The second thing he saw was Yunho's backside, which jerked him back into reality. It was not exactly a subtle reminder of where he was and why he was there.

 

 

Which was not to say that the ass was why he was there, he corrected himself, cringing internally.

 

 

He meant the person attached to it. Obviously.

 

 

He cleared his throat, and won Yunho’s attention.

 

 

Yunho was so...big. Changmin already knew that, but something about Yunho’s naked majesty as he looked over his shoulder, long hair tumbling chaotically everywhere; the thickness of his torso, and the breadth of his shoulders, and the girth of his upper arms...The combined effect of all of these big things brought his overall bigness home with fresh impact.

 

 

Changmin also saw the scars on Yunho’s body with fresh eyes. The harsh lighting and the angle at which it struck Yunho’s skin threw them into stark relief.

 

 

Aside from the long, light scar on his face, Yunho was also decorated with what appeared to be bullet scars, stab wound scars—at least three of them on his back—and a strange, jagged patchwork of connected or perhaps overlapping scars down his left thigh, starting from his buttock, stretching to midway down his calf.

 

 

Yunho was beginning to give him a questioning look, so Changmin had a go at forming a sentence.

 

 

'Looks like you've seen some things,' he said. He gestured to his own scarred body in an attempt to communicate his meaning, but the body language was not immediately successful: Yunho stood there, staring at Changmin’s chest and frowning, for a very long moment before comprehension seemed to dawn on him.

 

 

'Some violence,' Changmin added belatedly. 'Fights. Military?'

 

 

‘Oh,’ Yunho said, 'No, not military,' and looked away.

 

 

He used his good arm to pick up a cup and operate the water purifier. His injury made the proces slow and slightly awkward, but when he had filled it he brought it over and passed it to Changmin.

 

 

(Changmin could not for the life of him explain why he got goosebumps when their knuckles brushed together. It was ridiculous—he’d been balls-deep in the other man barely eight hours ago.)

 

 

'I guess you could say I made some bad choices,' Yunho said, and Changmin forced his attention back to where it was supposed to be.

 

 

'Well, we've all done that,' he answered with a shrug, sitting up properly. 'For instance, this entire situation.'

 

 

Then he wanted to kick himself, because the way he'd said it could be interpreted in a way he didn't mean it. 'Not this,' he added, awkwardly, 'Not us. I mean... _this_. My...my work stuff. You know. Ruining your life.'

 

 

Yunho gave him a strange look, though, and shook his head. He seemed to tense up all of a sudden: even his long silky hair was abruptly crackling with tension.

 

 

'Changmin...honestly...it’s not your fault.’

 

 

They’d had this conversation before, and clearly, neither of them had changed their position on the subject. Changmin remained guilty; Yunho remained dismissive.

 

 

Yunho began to speak again, the words escaping his mouth hurriedly, as though he didn’t expect himself to be saying them. ‘If it wasn't for you, I'd be dead.’ He paused, his soft lips open as he hesitated, and then, his tone hushed, added: ‘There's...there's something I should tell you.'

 

 

At that moment, Changmin’s phone began to rattle violently against the side table, announcing an incoming call and startling them both.

 

 

Changmin grabbed at it; saw Heechul's caller ID, and, thoughtlessly, instinctively, he answered. He swiped so hurriedly to pick up that he nearly lost his grip on the handset, and fumbled stupidly to bring it to his ear.

 

 

Yunho watched him with a look of...something. Something unreadable.

 

 

Annoyance?

 

 

Resignation?

 

 

Relief?

 

 

Changmin did not know what to make of those expressive dark eyes, and looked away instead, pulling the sheets tighter around his waist in an effort to make himself feel less naked; to conceal those strange feelings beginning to bubble and swirl in the core of his being. Those feelings that were...lust, yeah. Lust plus another thing. Something that Changmin did not welcome in himself, and was certain that Yuho would not welcome either. But looking away did not change the weight or texture of the emotion. Even when he closed his eyes Yunho was there: battle-scarred and streetsmart, and yet even the lines around his mouth were soft, and the swell of his lower lip somehow wanton...

 

 

'Changmin? Changmin—are you there?'

 

 

'Sir. Yes, sir. Here, sir.'

 

 

'You…’ Heechul started to speak, but seemed to change his mind, trailing off with an irritated sigh. ‘“Here”? “Here” where, man? The safehouse? Do you still have him?'

 

 

Changmin looked back to Yunho, suddenly doubting himself. _Was_ he with Yunho? _Were_ they in the safehouse? _Did_ he still have him?

 

 

Reality was shifting around him. But no, the dark eyes were still there, still brimming with unreadable things, and sucking him in; still making him feel things. He looked away again hastily.

 

 

'Sir, yes sir. With him at the safehouse sir.'

 

 

'Are you, just?’ Heechul asked rhetorically, his tone a little strange. ‘Well…good. Make him stay there. There's been a few developments.'

 

 

‘Sir?’

 

 

‘It’s a long story. I’ve had a visitor. I need you here. Come soon.’

 

 

‘Who was that?’ Yunho asked, the moment he hung up.

 

 

‘My boss,’ Changmin replied, reaching for his underwear while trying to protect his modesty—though why this felt necessary, he had no idea. ‘I’ve been summoned.’

 

 

Successfully getting his pants on, he took the few short paces needed to cross the room to where his suit hung on the rack, and began to dress.

 

 

Yunho, drinking a glass of water of his own now, watched.

 

 

Knotting his tie, Changmin looked over to him. ‘I’ll be back as quickly as I can,’ he said. ‘You said you had something to tell me...can you tell me then?’

 

 

Yunho shrugged. 'Yeah. Sure.'

 

 

Changmin wasn't sure why he was instantly suspicious of the gesture, but somewhere in his subconscious, he sensed...something. Something not quite right.

 

 

He recalled, suddenly, what Yunho had said before they'd come here.

 

 

_'Just for tonight.'_

 

 

 _He wouldn't run, would he?_ he asked himself, but his gut cut through his contemplation to answer for him.

 

 

_He might._

 

 

He didn’t mention it to Yunho, but he deadlocked the door from the outside, just in case.


	4. Chapter 4

Changmin was making increasingly less sense to Yunho.

 

 

Yunho had never _met_ Changmin in person before the other night, that first night, in his bar. But he’d been hearing of him for a long time.

 

 

The whole reason that Yunho had decided to start up the bar was that it was the best way to be able to see the grid whilst staying off the grid.

 

 

There, he could overhear what was on the grapevine without being a part of the latticework; he could, for the most part, get his questions answered without ever having to ask them. It had been the best way for him to stay safe, but in the know. Or at least, it had been until recently.Nothing good could last forever, he supposed.

 

 

But bars were good like that: wherever they might be located, they were a unique space in which the population would always be a weird cross-section of elites and the lowlifes; politicians and professionals; cop and robbers—everyone. Whether people were on the wrong or the right side of the law, and whether they drank or not, they all went to drinking establishments. _Everyone_ , because although alcohol was the lubricant, the currency was _words_.

 

 

So Yunho had been able to hear plenty. And because he’d come to Gwangju, he had quickly come to know of Kim Heechul. And because he heard about Kim Heechul, before long he also heard about Kim Heechul’s adjunct and enforcer, Shim Changmin.

 

 

But Shim Changmin’s reputation painted him as aloof, detached, professional, and brutal. And when Yunho had profiled him, even on that first night, he’d drawn the same conclusions, only adding _‘gay’ (or "attracted to Yunho", anyway), proud, and slightly volatile when feeling vulnerable'_ to his bank of knowledge.

 

 

But Yunho had come to know Changmin more intimately because of...life’s special brand of weirdness, Changmin’s misplaced sense of duty, and Yunho’s own damned impulsiveness. And under Changmin’s surface layer of lacquered composure, he was showing surprising differences from how Yunho had profiled him.

 

 

For instance, Yunho’s instincts told him that by now, a man like Kim Heechul, who traded in secrets, would probably know that Changmin’s confrontation with Choi Siwon was _not_ the reason that trouble had come after Yunho. Changmin had verbalised his guilt again this morning, so _he_ still felt responsible: Changmin still did not know.

 

 

But Yunho was certain that a man like Kim Heechul would have figured out that something was not right. And if he knew that there was something that he _didn’t_ know, then he would not rest until he had found out what it was.

 

 

Like the hundreds or thousands of people who had passed through Yunho’s bar, Yunho knew that it was not Shim Changmin that he needed to be afraid of.

 

 

Kim Heechul was the one who would work it out, and to work it out, he would want Yunho to talk.

 

 

Or, if he found out some other way, then he would be able to use Yunho as a bargaining chip, and Yunho knew exactly what awaited him if Heechul did decide to sell him off. As far as criminals went, Yunho had heard enough to know that Heechul was on the fairer side. In many respects, he was genuinely kind, in spite of his chosen trade. So, while he would have _liked_ to have faith in Heechul’s humanity, he had seen enough of the world to know how foolish it would be to trust anyone but himself. After all, there were things _much_ more valuable to men like Heechul than Yunho’s tiny life.

 

 

He was feeling increasingly weird about Changmin, though.

 

 

Again, Yunho was sure that, at the very least, Heechul would have the foresight to try and keep Yunho under indirect supervision. And it seemed entirely likely that Heechul was using Changmin for that purpose.

 

 

Hell, maybe Changmin knew everything too. It wasn’t impossible. Just extremely unlikely.

 

 

Either way, Heechul had set his guard dog to work, effectively making Yunho Changmin’s ward-and-prisoner. Assuming this was the case, and Changmin was under Heechul’s orders to keep Yunho under his thumb, it was extremely perplexing to find Changmin watching him with enormous, tragic black eyes at times when he thought Yunho couldn’t see or wouldn’t notice.

 

 

It simply _didn’t fit the profile._

 

 

So when Changmin left, Yunho dressed, had a cup of terrible instant coffee, and, after about thirty minutes had passed, tried the door.

 

 

Finding it deadlocked, he was almost reassured. _That_ fit the profile. _That_ was how Changmin was _meant_ to behave.

 

 

Yunho wouldn’t stay, of course. A deadlock was not going to hold him. Above all, he wanted to live, and he had been in far direr straits than deadlocked in a safehouse in a regional city.

 

 

Even after all this time, the memories came back in cinematic quality with only the slightest provocation. They were muscle memories, more than anything else—he could remember the dull thud of his cloth-wrapped fist through the glass. His leg remembered, too; the feeling of his skin tearing, pierced by the jagged edges he had no time to knock away…and, as though the injuries could recall the sequence of their infliction, the gunshot scar on his shoulder twitched sharply to life for the hundredth time or more, receding to a throbbing ache only to be joined by the scar of the bullet that had followed (only two were from that particular time). These things he recalled most vividly, because they remembered themselves—they were a part of him. He lived with them. But he also remembered the sounds and smells, and the fear, and his own confusion—remembered dislocating his shoulder to get his hands in front of himself, and wrest off the hood they’d put him in to get him out there. They'd planned to execute him in such a way as he wouldn’t see it coming. It was protection for them, he had thought then, and still did now—not protection of their identities; he’d known who the ringleaders were, so it could not help with that. More like protection from his, the victim's, judging eyes. They all knew who he was, but they had not wanted to look at him when they killed him. Cowards all.

 

 

But that emblem of their cowardice had been the only thing that Yunho could use to save himself, in the end. They clearly had not thought him capable of getting out at all, and with the circumstances and environment to his very slight advantage the gunshots, though they hit their mark, had not been enough to kill, and the weather had turned, and taken him away, and eventually tossed him back into the land of the living. And he was still here, but living on borrowed time.

 

 

Anyway, much easier to escape from this flat, all things considered. Of course, with only one hand at his disposal, it was a little more complicated, but still far from impossible.

 

 

The windows were barred, but the right leverage was enough to break them off their welded bases, and breaking half of them loose left him a big enough gap to get through.

 

 

He stopped, after that, and took a quick look around the safehouse for anything that might be useful to keep on his person, but in the end he took nothing.

 

 

He left one thing behind, though: a note, on the table.

 

 

_'Changmin, I'm sorry. Y'  
_

 

 

The descent down the side of the building was uncomfortable, his arm screaming with resentment after two storeys. But Yunho had no problems with heights, and though the following six storeys to the overgrown vacant lot below passed slowly, there were only a couple of passersby, and no one looked up.

 

 

He dropped at a height of only a couple of metres, hit the ground lightly, and moved on.

 

 

Time to change.

 

 

Time to disappear. 

 

 

And to forget those doleful eyes. As quickly as possible. 


End file.
